


Tell Me More

by SlimReaper



Series: The Chemicals-verse [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Ambulon is FINE OKAY HE'S FINE, Ambulon isn't dead, Begging, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nicknames, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, but I feel like y'all should know that, dratchet - Freeform, he doesn't actually show up in this story, he went to tahiti just like Coulson, iopele, it's a magical place, robots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet's been working much too hard. Drift knows how to get him to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me More

**Author's Note:**

> Muse was in the mood to write some porn. Therefore, voila! Let there be Dratchet porn!
> 
> (Set many months after the end of The Chemicals Between Us)

Ratchet fell onto Drift’s couch with a weary sigh. Of all the good things about moving into Drift’s hab suite, this couch ranked right up near the top of the list. Big enough for him to sprawl across with plenty of room for Drift too; strong enough that he didn’t have to worry about breaking it if he carelessly flopped down onto it; and incredibly, unbelievably, blissfully  _comfortable_ , its masses of cushions and padding cradling his achy old frame just right. He’d been dreaming about falling into its welcoming embrace for hours.

The only thing that could make it better would be having Drift snuggled up on here with him, but since he was still stuck finishing up his own extended duty shift, Ratchet would have to make do with the perfect couch by himself.

He sighed again and nestled his shoulders deeper into the cushions, not bothering to turn on the vidscreen in hopes that he could nap for a little while instead. He was utterly worn out and he wanted to have some energy when Drift got home to give him some attention–they’d both been working overtime for weeks now, hardly seeing each other. Still, even as comfortable as he was, the stress and frustration of his long shift in the medbay kept him from relaxing enough to doze off.

Well, more like a shift and three-quarters, since Rodimus had reassigned Lancet to accompany him, Drift, Hound, and Perceptor on an excursion down to investigate the asteroid the  _Lost Light_  had been passing. Lancet was incidentally the medic who’d been due to relieve Ratchet after his eighth overtime shift in a row so to say that Ratchet hadn’t been happy with this decision was something of an understatement. The medbay was more shorthanded than usual right now with Ambulon still recovering in intensive care from Pharma’s brutal attack–he was going to live, they were confident of that now, but he had a long road ahead of him. They also had several other inpatients recovering from Rodimus’ last “investigative excursion,” as well as the usual assortment of mecha who were always coming in with injuries, illnesses, or accidents. First Aid couldn’t handle all of that alone, so Ratchet had gritted his denta, chugged a cube of the mildly-stimulant mid-grade the Earth-stationed Autobots had taken to calling  _express-o_ , and pushed through his exhaustion. Again.

By the time their fragging captain had determined that there was nothing worth having on the fragging asteroid, eight fragging hours had passed and Ratchet was beyond fragging  _done with it._  He would be having some  _words_  with their illustrious fragging captain, that was for damn sure.

But all that could wait. Ratchet realized that he’d tensed up again and forced himself to vent slowly and deeply until his tight joints and servos slowly began to loosen. Oh, he wished Drift were here to give him one of those amazing massages. Those hands of his were truly talented. Ratchet had never experienced anything like it, and he felt like the luckiest mech in the universe that his courtmate actually  _enjoyed_  lavishing attention on him like that.

Actually, he felt like the luckiest mech in the universe that Drift had ever looked twice at him, much less fallen in love with him. Ratchet sometimes found it hard to believe that he wasn’t dreaming.

Before he could get too disgustingly sentimental, Ratchet heard the soft whoosh of the door opening and closing. There were no audible footsteps between the two sounds, which was a sure-fire way of knowing that it was Drift. He’d never met anyone who could move so silently.

Ratchet propped himself up on one elbow to look over the back of the couch. Despite his glowing white paintjob, Drift looked more than a little weary himself. Ratchet made a note to add  _working my courtmate into exhaustion_ to the list of things he’d be discussing with Rodimus later and said, “I’m glad you’re home, love. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, good. I hoped you’d be here,” Drift said, giving Ratchet a tired but sincere smile. He dropped a handful of datapads on his desk and headed for his swordrack and altar, silent footsteps dragging. “Otherwise I was fully prepared to pull the  _Ultra Magnus says you have to rest_  trick again.”

Ratchet snorted but shook his head. “Not saying that’s not tempting, but it wouldn’t do you any good. The problem isn’t going to go away with rules and schedule changes. What we need is a bigger medical staff to take the load off. Besides, I told you that you’re only getting away with that trick once,” he warned, but really, part of him wouldn’t mind if Ultra Magnus  _did_  step in at this point. He didn’t mind working hard, but lately it had been excessive even by his workaholic standards. Still, he didn’t want to spend their first night together in almost a week talking about work, and he tried to change the tone. “If you try that again, I’ll have to turn you over my knee.”

“Then I’ll tell Rodimus that we have to recruit more medics,” Drift replied, not taking the cue to move the conversation to a lighter mood. He stopped where he was and looked at Ratchet with concern writ large in his optics, and he held up a hand to stop him when Ratchet tried to speak. “You’re exhausted, Ratchet, and I’m  _worried_  about you. You were already understaffed before Ambulon’s injury and you can’t keep going like this. Even you have your limits. You haven’t had a decent recharge cycle in weeks–you barely even have time to fuel and I know you’ve been using those stimulants more than you should. I feel the stress and fatigue in your field. I can see it in your aura.”

Ratchet bit back his first response to that. He might not give half a dried-up scrap about auras and religion and all that woowoo spiritual nonsense, but he  _did_  care about Drift, and that meant he wouldn’t mock his beliefs even though he didn’t share them.

It was his second response he verbalized, the instinctive need to soothe the mech he loved. “I’m fine, love, truly. Anyway, what did I tell you about worrying about me?” he said in hopes that this time Drift would allow the subject change, because arguing would do nothing to help the situation and he’d been looking forward to spending time with his courtmate too much to let a pointless argument ruin their first evening together in far too long. Time spent alone was already at a premium for two high-ranking officers on a busy ship, and Drift was right. Ratchet's schedule had been insanely busy ever since Ambulon had been forcibly removed from the duty roster. 

Tonight was far, far too precious to spend it fighting.

Drift seemed to come to the same conclusion because he vented slowly instead of answering right away. The tension bled from his field and Ratchet silently sighed with relief. “That I’m the best at it and you appreciate my concern, and you hope I never stop,” Drift replied smoothly, shooting him a cheeky grin before turning to the swordrack and removing the Great Sword from his back.

Ratchet snorted and waited for him to finish hanging up his weapons. Ratchet was quiet as Drift bowed to his Great Sword and lit a stick of incense on the altar. No, he might not care much for the spiritualism that his mate embraced so wholesparkedly, but he’d grown used to Drift’s evening rituals and now he found the routine of them rather comforting.

Only when he straightened again did Ratchet speak. “You know, I was thinking about you before you got home.”

Drift turned and gave him a smile that looked much less fatigued than his earlier expression. “Hmm,  _were_  you now. And what were you thinking?”

Oh, that smile held all kinds of promise. Ratchet opened his arms and replied, “How much better this couch would be if you were on it with me. C’mere.”

Drift’s smile grew as he closed the distance between them and let Ratchet pull him down, but instead of cuddling up beside him on the couch, Drift stretched out right on top of him. Ratchet’s vents stuttered for a moment–oh, Drift felt  _good_  pressed full-length against him like that, and it had been far too long since he’d held him close like this. Drift leaned in for a kiss and Ratchet happily complied, caressing his back in long, slow strokes as their lips lingered in a series of slow, easy kisses. “Oh yeah, I was right,” he murmured when Drift pulled away several blissful minutes later. “This is much, much better, sweetspark.”

Drift crossed his arms on Ratchet’s chestplate and smiled down at him. “I love it when you call me that,” he said as his field surged with pleasure and happiness. “It makes me wish I had a name like that for you that you liked as much.”

Ratchet kissed him again, just lightly this time, not trying to turn this moment into anything more. For now, it was enough to savor the closeness to his lover. “Yeah? Like what?” he asked, because Drift had never called him by an endearment or a pet name in their months together.

Drift tapped his chin, thinking it over. “Maybe… Ratchie-poo?”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, hoping like pit that Drift wasn’t serious with that suggestion, but he’d said it with a completely straight face. He answered with the same degree of seriousness. “Maybe no.”

“Well, if you don’t like that one, there’s always something like cuddle-bear?” Drift said, and now his optics were twinkling playfully and he couldn’t keep the mischief out of his field. “You do like to cuddle so much, and if I remember right from Earth, bears spend almost half the year snuggled up together in a cave.”

It was a challenge, but Ratchet managed to glare instead of chuckle. “You call me cuddle-bear and I’ll lock  _you_  in a cave for half a year.”

The threat had no discernable impact on Drift. The swordsmech thought for a moment before smiling brightly. “How would you like something like  _the light of my optics_ , or maybe  _my dearest starshine?_ ”

“How would you like to get thrown across the room?” Ratchet growled, holding back laughter with all his might.

Drift winked at him and gave an exaggerated shiver of excitement. “Mmm, you’re so strong, Ratchie-poo. You already make me feel like I’m flying,” he purred, and Ratchet had to bite his glossa to keep from laughing now.

“You’re just begging to get your mouth welded shut, you know that?”

“Naah, you’d miss my mouth if you did that.” Then before Ratchet could even begin to think of a response to that, Drift suddenly grinned and cried, “Oh, oh, I’ve got it!  _Love-muffin!_  You’re my red berry love-muffin. It’s perfect!”

Ratchet scowled but oh, that one almost broke him. “Drift, we are mechanical life forms, we do not have berries  _or_  muffins,” he growled in a tone that would make most mecha run for cover.

“I do,” Drift said, gazing at him in over-the-top adoration with big, sincere turbofox optics. He leaned in and rubbed the tip of his nose against Ratchet’s. “I have you, my sweet, precious strawberry love-muffin.”

And that did it. Ratchet gave up the fight and laughed until it hurt. “Slagging pit, Drift, those were  _terrible,_ ” he choked out as Drift grinned triumphantly atop him. “What’s got into you with those awful nicknames?”

“Made you laugh,” Drift said simply, still grinning, and Ratchet snorted and shook his head.

“You are a silly idiot,” he told him when he could speak again, and when Drift opened his mouth to protest, Ratchet stopped him with a finger over his lips. “But you’re  _my_  silly idiot. Never change.”

The swordsmech’s smile lit up the room. “Not as good as strawberry love-muffin, but I suppose I’ll take it,” he said, and kissed him before he could reply.

Unlike their previous kisses, this one had some fire in it. Ratchet groaned and ran his hands up and down Drift’s back, pressing him closer, sliding along the dip and flare of his waist and hips. Drift shivered and shifted atop him, those gorgeous thighs parting to allow one of Ratchet’s to slide between them, tangling their legs together in the very best way and bringing their hips into perfect alignment. Ratchet let one hand slip down to cup his aft for a moment before moving lower until he could stroke teasing fingertips over the tire on the back of one streamlined thigh. Oh, he loved Drift for so many reasons that had nothing to do with his looks, but his lithe, curvy frame was definitely a bonus that Ratchet fully enjoyed. Even better were the sounds he made when Ratchet caressed him like this, little whimpers and gasps that made him crazy.

And all the while, Drift kissed him like nothing in the universe mattered but Ratchet. Oh, it had been far too long since he’d been able to enjoy his lover like this. “You can call me whatever you want if you kiss me like that again,” he breathed against Drift’s lips when he pulled away.

Drift smiled and nuzzled his cheek. “How about  _mine?_ ” he whispered, and Ratchet’s vents hitched at the intensity of the love in his courtmate’s field. 

“All yours,” he agreed, and sighed happily as Drift kissed him again. Charge built between them, frames heating, hands wandering, lips teasing. Ratchet could happily spend hours doing nothing but this, reacquainting himself with his mate’s taste, his frame, losing himself in the wonderful, passionate mesh of their fields.

Drift chose that moment to pull away. “Let me do something?”

Like Ratchet possessed any ability to tell him no in moments like these. “Anything.”

His optics warmed at Ratchet’s instant agreement and he kissed him again to reward him for it. “You’ve been working so hard. Let me take care of you tonight while you relax and enjoy,” he murmured against Ratchet’s lips in a low, seductive purr that left no doubt about what he meant by  _take care of you._

Ratchet’s spark surged with desire but even so, he hesitated. Drift had been working every bit as hard as he had. “I want you to enjoy, too,” he said, because Drift’s pleasure was important to him. Not only did he love how beautiful Drift was when he overloaded, the last thing Ratchet wanted was for his lover to feel like he expected him to service him. Lovemaking was about give and take, and he never wanted to only  _take_.

Drift pulled back and smiled down at him–that special smile he saved for moments like these, the smile only Ratchet got to see. “Oh, trust me,” he said, optics burning with intent and field heating, “I promise I’m going to enjoy this.”

And there was no way Ratchet could say no to that smile. He nodded and Drift’s smile widened an instant before he kissed him again.

But the kiss didn’t last nearly as long as the others. Ratchet shivered as Drift nibbled along the line of his jaw and down his throat, stinging, teasing little bites that he immediately soothed with swipes of his glossa. Every sharp nip sent thrills through his system. He tried to do what Drift had told him, to relax into the deep cushions and simply enjoy, but he couldn’t make his frame do it. His cooling fans were blasting long before Drift was done kissing his throat and the swordsmech’s field teased his with smug satisfaction at his unrestrained reaction.

Ratchet retaliated by caressing his audial flares with both hands. Drift moaned and gasped in a very satisfactory way and he savored the sound. Drift slid down his frame, scattering kisses over his chestplate and shoulders. He slid his hands around to dip his fingertips down alongside the wheels on the back of Ratchet’s pauldrons and now Ratchet was the one gasping and moaning as pleasure shot through his frame. He stroked Drift’s finials again, tracing little patterns over the smooth metal in the way he’d discovered the speedster loved.

Drift shuddered. But instead of pressing his helm more firmly into Ratchet’s hands, he reached up and grasped his wrists, pulling them away from the sensitive flares. Ratchet knew his face reflected his surprise because having his finials stroked was one of Drift’s favorite things. He’d never before stopped Ratchet from playing with them as they made love.

Clearly Drift sensed the confusion in his field because he glanced up and winked. “Much too distracting,” he whispered against Ratchet’s abdomen. “This is about you.”

“It’s about both of us,” Ratchet corrected him, then lost his voice in a burst of static as Drift slid both hands boldly up his inner thighs.

“You want to please me too, yes?” Drift murmured between kisses. He didn’t look up when Ratchet nodded, but Ratchet knew he could feel his assent. Perceptor had created a theory about why their fields remained so closely linked, something about Drift never being able to imprint properly before Ratchet’s heat, but all Ratchet cared about was that he hoped it never stopped. “Then do what you just promised. Let me love you tonight,” Drift said, and now he raised his optics to Ratchet’s. The desire in his gaze was reinforced by his own EM projections and the medic couldn’t stop his shiver at the intensity of it.

Drift  _really_  wanted this.

Then Drift winked. “And in case you haven’t noticed, seeing you laid out for me like this is getting me really fragging hot. Having you at my mercy?” He shivered and licked his lips. “Oh, don’t you worry, I’m loving every second of this.”

And it was true. Drift’s fans were running just as fast as Ratchet’s, and he forced himself to put his hands down instead of reaching for his lover again. He still could hardly believe Drift found him so sexy, but the speedster was always revved up for him. If he believed in miracles, this would definitely qualify. “Next time it’s my turn, though,” he said in surrender. The words emerged on a moan as Drift chose that moment to swirl his glossa in the round indentation of his abdominal armor.

“Deal,” Drift murmured, then set to nibbling down to his hip plating. Ratchet gasped when one of those talented hands boldly cupped his panel. “Open,” he demanded, and Ratchet moaned as he obeyed instantly.

Drift pulled back and gazed at the medic’s array as his spike emerged from its housing and his valve cover spiraled open. He purred his approval and trailed his fingertips in a feather-soft caress over his pressurizing spike as his other hand dipped down to tease his valve. Ratchet gasped again and couldn’t stop himself from pressing into his lover’s touch. Drift stroked him with both hands, and then met Ratchet’s optics. “Have I told you lately how gorgeous you are?” he asked as he pressed his palms to Ratchet’s thighs and urged them further apart, baring him completely to the speedster’s admiring gaze. “Oh, so lovely.”

Ratchet bit his lip to stop his first, instinctive reaction. Ratchet was certainly  _not_ the gorgeous one in this room, but Drift didn’t like it when he belittled himself. It was hard to break the habit of shrugging off compliments about his appearance and harder still to believe that someone as insanely beautiful as Drift really meant it when he said things like that, but Ratchet was trying.

And luckily Drift didn’t seem bothered by his lack of a reply because his smile turned wicked. “You look good enough to eat,” he purred.

Heat shot through Ratchet’s frame and settled deep in his core. “Feel free,” he managed, trying for his normal tone and missing by light years. Drift’s glossa should be enshrined in a galactic Hall of Fame. Ratchet couldn’t get enough of it.

Drift chuckled and nuzzled at his inner thigh. “Oh, trust me, I plan to,” he whispered. He bit the tender cables exposed at the juncture of thigh and pelvic plating, making Ratchet moan and jump. “But not yet,” he added as his field teased Ratchet’s. “Not until you’re ready for it.”

Ratchet moaned again. “I’m ready,” he said, gasping when Drift’s glossa dipped into the armor seam and tasted the wires and lines there, but his lover only chuckled.

“Not yet,” Drift repeated as his EM projections went playful again. “You’re always telling me about the benefits of being thorough in these things. I’d hate to disappoint you by rushing.”

Ratchet groaned. That was something he’d said the last time he’d he teased Drift in the berth, kissing and caressing him all over until the speedster forgot all about being quiet. He loved the sound of his lover moaning and begging almost as much as he loved finally satisfying him. “Getting a taste of my own medicine, am I,” he groaned as Drift laughed against his plating.

“Mmm, you are indeed,” he said smugly. “But don't worry. I’m going to taste every bit of you by the time I’m through.”

And Drift was every bit as good as his word.

Ratchet had never been one to hold back on his moans and cries and he didn’t even try now. Drift kissed all along his right thigh, holding his leg still with one hand while he used the other to press between armor plates, stroking and rubbing at the components hidden underneath. By the time Drift had kissed his way down to Ratchet’s ankle and moved to the other leg to start working his way back up, the medic was gripping the sofa cushions tight in both hands. The contrast of Drift’s massaging, soothing hands and his suckling and nibbling kisses was incredibly erotic and Ratchet couldn’t help arching into his touch. Heat gathered in his array and he could already feel the need to overload building insistently. “Really,  _really_  ready now,” he gasped as Drift’s kisses rose up to his left hip.

Drift nipped at the edge of his pelvic armor with his sharpened incisors, startling a cry from him. “Oh, you’re not even close to ready.”

Ratchet couldn’t keep from whimpering. His spike throbbed, desperate for attention, already beginning to leak transfluid. He reached down to wrap his fingers around it in an attempt to ease the growing ache but Drift pushed his hand away. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled against his waist.

“Please,” Ratchet moaned, his hips rocking as his valve clenched down on nothing. “I’ve missed you so much, I’ve been thinking about your touch for days, I’m dying here!”

And while telling Drift how much Ratchet wanted him usually worked, this time the speedster just raised an optic ridge. “Oh, I think you’ll live. And where’s all that patience you like to brag about, hmm?” Drift said coolly, but his field flared with pleasure at the evidence of just how hot he was making Ratchet. “You make me wait much, much longer than this, you know.”

“You’re sexier than I am, it’s not the same!”

“Matter of opinion,” Drift said, and when Ratchet reached for his spike again, shameless in his attempts to get some kind of stimulation, Drift grabbed both his wrists and pinned them to the couch beside his hips. “You do that again and you’re not getting anything at all.”

Ratchet pulled against the restraining hands and a thrill shot through him when Drift didn’t give him an inch of freedom. “Let me touch you, then,” he pleaded, because he wanted that even more than he wanted to touch himself. Drift shook his head and Ratchet moaned, torn between loving every second of this and frustration at being forced to wait. “Oh, you’re much, much more cruel than I am,” he complained. “I’m going to remember this when I get my turn!”

Far from being threatened, Drift smiled as he trailed a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses up the center of Ratchet’s body until he could nuzzle the Autobot symbol over his spark. He released the medic’s wrists, much to his dismay, but when he slipped his hands beneath his shoulders and dug his fingers into the tight components there, Ratchet groaned deep in his throat. Oh, Drift knew just where and how to touch him to unlock the knots stress put in his frame, and he melted beneath his lover’s perfect caresses.

Only to go rigid when Drift slid one knee up between his thighs and pressed boldly against his valve. “Drift, Drift, oh yes, oh  _please,_ ” Ratchet moaned as pleasure jolted his neural net in an electric wave from that point of contact.

“Mmm, I’m starting to see the appeal of making you beg. Do it some more,” Drift murmured as he pressed more firmly and Ratchet gasped out an unintelligible curse.

“Please, oh frag Drift, please,  _please_ ,” Ratchet immediately obeyed, willing to do whatever his lover asked just so long as he didn’t take that wonderful pressure away. He shifted to get better friction against his anterior node and started to rock against Drift’s leg only to have the speedster immediately pull it away. Bereft, he couldn’t stop a frustrated shout. “ _Drift!_ ”

“Patience, Ratchet, patience.” Drift went up on his knees between Ratchet’s thighs, spreading the medic’s legs wide. He braced one hand beside his head before bending to kiss along his hypersensitive chevron. Ratchet lost his voice in a rush of heat. “Please what?” Drift prompted.

Oh, so Drift wanted to hear exactly what he liked, did he? Ratchet was  _more_ than happy to tell him in detail. He reset his vocalizer, but it was hard to keep from whimpering while Drift's glossa flicked over his chevron. He concentrated as much as he could. “Please, sweetspark, please touch me, I love it when you run your hands all over me. You know just how to make me crazy,” Ratchet said, and though he tried to make his voice deep and sexy the way he  _knew_  went straight to Drift’s array, he was too wound up to keep the edge of need from the words.

“Sounds good,” Drift said approvingly. “Tell me more.”

And if Ratchet couldn’t make his voice low and sultry, he could lavish his lover with the praise that also drove him wild. “Love how your hands feel on me, love it when you work your fingers down under my armor, love how it feels when you pinch my wiring and scratch your fingertips over my protoform. No one’s ever touched me the way you do, no one’s ever taken such perfect care of me as you do. Oh sweetspark, I love how it feels when you squeeze my tires, and when you push your fingers down alongside them…” He didn’t have to fake the shiver that shook him at the thought of it, and Drift had gone still above him now, his frame quivering, hanging on Ratchet’s every word just as he’d hoped. “Oh, frag, Drift, it makes me so wet when you touch me, and I love it when your hands move lower, all the way down to slide between my thighs, and…”

Hot air blasted from Drift’s vents and the speedster moaned against Ratchet’s chevron. “And what?” he whispered, his lips caressing the sensor-packed metal with each word.

And while getting Drift revved up and eager was exactly what Ratchet had been hoping for with this, the cessation of his kisses and caresses was only increasing Ratchet’s own frustration and desperation for  _touch,_  for  _more_ , and he couldn’t even touch Drift to urge him on! He arched beneath his lover, gripping the cushions tight and tried to maintain his focus on pushing Drift past the limits of his self-control with words alone.

“And I love it when you run your fingertips over my spike,” he said as it throbbed and ached with longing for Drift’s touch, for  _any_  touch beyond the heated blasts of air from their vents over the engorged plating. “First lightly, then firmer, until you wrap your hand around me and start to stroke me, slow and careful at first–oh  _frag_  Drift, please!” he gasped as a single fingertip traced a line down his spike from tip to base before vanishing again. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t anywhere  _near_ enough, only made it worse, and Ratchet tried to thrust his hips after the retreating hand when it pulled away. “Please, _ahh_ , please–”

Drift laughed softly and pressed his palm flat on Ratchet’s chestplate. His other hand trailed over Ratchet’s abdomen, fingertips teasing at the gaps between armor plates without ever pressing between them, and if he’d been frozen and quivering moments before, he seemed to have recovered now. Conversely, Ratchet felt even closer to the edge, and that wasn’t how this was supposed to go, dammit!

Drift nuzzled along Ratchet’s throat when he threw his head back and groaned in mingled frustration and pleasure. “Mmm, I didn’t tell you to stop talking,” he murmured against his plating. “You want my hand slow and careful on your spike, and then?”

Ratchet gasped for air as his cooling system sought every possible way to shed heat. Drift so rarely took control of their interfacing like this, and Vector fragging Sigma, it was  _hot_. “A-and then _ngh!_ ” he broke off, stuttering as Drift bit just beneath his jaw, then followed up with a wet, open-mouthed kiss. The tip of Drift’s glossa flicked teasingly against his plating as he hummed an inquiry and Ratchet tried to continue. “– _ahh–_ and th-then you could slide your other hand along my thigh, all the way up to my valve. I’m so wet for you, you’ve got me so revved up I can hardly stand it, and your fingers can slip right inside me. Oh frag, Drift, I love that, love how you feel inside me, I don’t care if it’s your fingers or your glossa or your spike, every part of you feels so good, so good…”

Drift’s engine purred and his field flared with pleasure at the praise. “More,” he whispered.

“Kiss me first,” Ratchet pleaded, because he was going crazy here and he needed something,  _anything_  more than those teasing little caresses. “Kiss me, I need to taste you, love, please kiss me…”

Drift nipped at his jaw, startling another moan from him. “Earn it,” he said, voice as low and seductive as Ratchet had ever heard it. Slag, it was so sexy he felt in serious danger of overheating and he didn’t  _care_  as long as Drift just didn’t stop. “Keep talking. Tell me what my mouth is doing while my hands are busy stroking your spike and fingering your hot little valve.”

“Oh frag, sweetspark,” Ratchet whimpered, digging his fingers into his own palms to keep from grabbing Drift and just  _taking_  the kiss he wanted so desperately. He closed his optics to better focus on the fantasy he was building, but Drift’s fingertips slid to those seams along the sides of his chest armor and scattered his thoughts to the four corners of the galaxy. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his vocalizer when the speedster pressed a little harder, just enough to brush the sensitive wires underneath. “Oh Drift… love… please–”

“Tell me, Ratchet, where do you want me to kiss you?” Drift murmured. He licked along Ratchet’s throat, then across his collar assembly. “Here, like this? Do you want me to use my glossa on you, trace around the edges of your chestplate?” He did just that before Ratchet could even begin to find his voice to answer. He squeezed Drift’s hips between this thighs, panting, moaning,  _wanting,_  but Drift wasn’t done yet. “Do you want me to kiss lower, perhaps? Maybe along these seams here?” Another caress over those chest seams, making Ratchet cry out. “You said how you like it when I pinch your wiring–” he did so and Ratchet writhed, fire shooting through his frame, “–and that makes me wonder if you’d like it if I licked them, too.”

“Drift, oh Drift, please.” Ratchet was panting now, couldn’t help it. This was too fragging hot, driving everything from his processor but the pursuit of pleasure. “Oh please–”

Drift slid down to kneel beside the couch, and while Ratchet opened his mouth to protest that–he wanted Drift  _closer,_  not further away!–the protest died before it ever left his vocalizer as his lover pressed his open mouth to the border between his chest and side armor and thrust his glossa into the gap.

 _“Drift!_ ” he shouted, and he couldn’t stay still anymore now, not with Drift’s glossa deftly hooking beneath tender wires and delicate lines and drawing them up just enough that he could close his lips around them and suckle. He’d never felt anything so incredible and his heels dug into the couch as his back arched like a bow. “Oh, Drift, oh Drift, oh–”

Drift hummed his satisfaction at his reaction and Ratchet’s vocalizer glitched out on a burst of static at the intensity of the sensation. Those suckling, licking, molten-hot kisses traveled down the length of the gap, and Drift moved to the next one, and the next. Ratchet couldn’t stop his hips from rocking no matter how hard he tried. Drift’s field thrummed with how much his pleasure thrilled him and that just drove Ratchet higher, his fans spinning so hard now that they  _throbbed_.

And then Drift reached the seam where his pelvic armor met his thigh, and instead of teasing those hidden components with that gorgeous glossa of his, Drift licked a scorching path right up the side of his spike and closed his lips around the head.

Ratchet couldn’t help the way his hips thrust upward, driving his spike deeper into the wet heat of Drift’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop the movement. He expected Drift to gag, or cough, or pull away, and he vented in to apologize.

He  _didn’t_  expect Drift to rise up on his knees and relax the back of his throat to let the full length of Ratchet’s spike slide right in, all the way until his nose pressed against his spike housing.

And once he’d fully engulfed Ratchet’s spike, Drift hummed a long, low note of pleasure and his field flared with smug satisfaction.

The air whooshed out of his vents and Ratchet groaned in absolute ecstasy. “Drift, oh love, oh frag that’s–oh that’s  _amazing_ , oh that’s so good,” he panted through static, then lost his words entirely in a sharp cry when Drift swallowed. His throat flexed around him before he started to suckle his way off, glossa fluttering enticingly against the ridged underside the whole way. Drift let his spike slide almost entirely free before swallowing him all the way down again.

And again. And  _again._

The pace picked up and stars burst behind Ratchet’s optics. “Not gonna last,” Ratchet gasped as pleasure coiled in a tight knot at the base of his spike. His hips were rocking freely now and Drift didn’t seem to mind at all, letting Ratchet frag his mouth and moaning around his length with his own pleasure as he did it. Ratchet had never in his life imagined anything could be this good, but he needed to warn Drift in time to pull away. “Drift, oh love, I’m close, oh frag I’m close,  _Drift I’m_ –”

That tight knot of pleasure abruptly snapped, shooting ecstasy through his entire frame, and Ratchet tried to push Drift away before he could overload in his lover’s mouth–after all, he’d already shoved his spike down his throat without asking, he didn’t want to be so inconsiderate twice. But Drift grabbed his hips and suckled  _hard,_  not letting Ratchet get away. He groaned Drift’s name over and over as his climax overtook him and Drift swallowed every drop and moaned with pleasure. Only when his overload passed, leaving him almost limp, did Drift finally let his spike slide free of his mouth.

And then he met Ratchet’s gaze and smiled and licked his lips. Ratchet moaned all over again at the sight–frag,  _no one_  should be that sexy without warning a mech first–and finally released his death-grip on the cushions beside his helm so he could hold out his arms. “Get over here and kiss me,” he said hoarsely.

Drift slid into his embrace and returned his passionate kiss. “Oh, Ratchet, that was  _fantastic_ ,” he whispered against Ratchet’s lips several long minutes later, his field still sparkling with pleasure and arousal against Ratchet’s. “You have to let me do that again sometime.”

Just the thought of that happening  _again_  was enough to negate any progress Ratchet’s cooling system had made to dispelling the excess heat from his frame, but feeling the unsated arousal in Drift’s projections immediately made Ratchet tense with guilt. Dammit, how could he have left his lover unsatisfied? “Drift–”

“Stop,” Drift interrupted before Ratchet could get out anything more than his name. “You stop that ridiculous guilt right this instant. I loved that, you hear me?”

“But you’re still revved up,” Ratchet pointed out as his guilt increased instead of vanishing.

“Stop it, I said. I’m fine,” Drift said dismissively. “I asked you to let me take care of you while you relaxed and enjoyed it, remember? I got exactly what I wanted, and believe me, I had a  _very_  good time. I don’t need to overload.”

He kissed him again, slow and sweet now, and Ratchet tried to let go of his thoughts and relax into the afterglow, but as wonderful as his frame felt in the aftermath of that spectacular overload, he just couldn’t. Drift sighed as he pulled away. “This is going to bother you all night, isn’t it,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “I wanted to please you without you having to do anything in return. You really have a hard time letting it be all about you, don’t you?”

Ratchet pulled him closer and nodded helplessly. “I love you, Drift. Making you feel good  _does_  please me. If it’s all about me, that means I should be able to get you off if I want to, right?”

Drift laughed. “I’m sure there’s a flaw in that logic but damned if I can figure out what it is right now,” he said, and Ratchet chuckled too. Drift looked down at him and tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. “All right, then, if you’re really determined–”

“I am,” Ratchet said instantly, which made him roll his optics.

“–then this is what we’re going to do,” Drift continued as though Ratchet hadn’t interrupted. He shifted to lie atop Ratchet again, thighs framing his waist, and tugged at one arm until Ratchet let him pull it from around his waist. He brought Ratchet’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingertips, sending a shiver through the medic’s system. “You’re going to turn your tactile sensitivity up to maximum,” Drift murmured against his palm, “and then you can finger me to overload, but not until you overload at least once more first. Deal?”

This time Ratchet shivered from head to toe. “Sounds very,  _very_  good,” he agreed. And then, feeling his smile go a little wicked in response to the flare of hunger in Drift’s field, he added, “How many overloads would you like, love?”

Drift purred and nibbled at his lips. “As many as you can give me, but you have to overload at least once for every one of mine.”

Ratchet grinned, no longer feeling the slightest bit tired at all. “Then let’s move this to the berth, because I have a feeling this is going to be a long and very pleasant night for both of us.”


End file.
